


are you coming home?

by Diz (artificialmac)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Heavy Angst, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26965969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialmac/pseuds/Diz
Summary: George likes to walk alone late at night.It's the not knowing that always gets Dream.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 122





	are you coming home?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I’m still very new to writing for this fandom and this pairing, so I’m still getting my bearings and I thought what better way than some good old-fashioned angst? This is a little drabble/ficlet thing that was in my brain and just kinda spilled out on paper. It's a bit more abstract than I’m used to doing, but oh well. 
> 
> This is very loosely inspired by this song (https://soundcloud.com/lizzymcalpine/angelina-demo) that I heard on tik tok and I really loved it. So check it out if you like!

Clay woke up in the blue light of a newly familiar bedroom, clock reading a painfully bright 04:27. 

The American held back a groan and buried his long limbs back into the warm comfort of the sheets beneath him. His eyes fluttered shut under their own weight and he could just barely trace the edges of sleep with the pads of his fingers when he noticed the empty space beside him.

He felt the immediate sleep-induced panic at the sudden realization, but his rational brain kicked on a moment later, and the panic slowly waned in favor of unease.

George was gone.

 _Probably just out for one of his late-night/early-morning walks._ Clay reasoned with himself.

He would do that sometimes, the crazy bastard. _Ha._ Get up at all hours of the night and walk the desolate city streets like he was asking to get murdered...

Even the jokes about it in Clay’s head didn’t land.

But they wouldn’t talk about it in the morning. Or in the days that followed. 

Similar to the way they don’t talk about their new sleeping arrangements. Or about anything at all really nowadays. 

Moving in together was supposed to amp up creativity. 

_But it’s hard to come up with fun video ideas when your roommate can’t even look you in the eye._ Clay thought bitterly.

Ever since they started… whatever it was they were doing, they could barely hold a conversation, let alone film an entire video.

They would just... stream separately and... eat meals alone... and pretend it wasn’t killing them both inside.

And sometimes George would knock on Clay’s door and they wouldn’t feel the need to talk at all, their bodies pressed together so tight there wasn’t room for words.

And then George would go walking late at night.

* * *

Clay sat up in bed, throwing off the scorching sheets. 

With his feet planted firmly on the ground, he felt less like he was going to throw up, though the gnawing in his gut was still very much present.

He wanted more than anything to go back to sleep, but he knew that wasn’t a possibility; he never could sleep when he knew George was out, and he hated that that made him sound like some love-sick puppy but he couldn’t help it.

He always slept better next to George.

* * *

It’s the not knowing if he will come back that keeps Clay up. 

He knows George can handle himself; that the older man is fine out there on his own, has been perfectly fine being alone for the last however many years. 

But Clay never knows if he’ll come back. 

If this is the night he doesn’t come home. 

If this is the night where he can’t stand it anymore.

* * *

Clay sits on the edge of the bed for what feels like hours when he finally hears the tell-tale jingle of keys outside their front door. 

He quickly positions himself back under the blankets and sheets, feigning sleep as the doorknob to his room jiggles. 

He hears a gentle exhale as the door to his bedroom opens slowly, and sock-clad feet attempt to make as little noise as possible on the soft carpet.

The mattress dips as George slips back under the bedding, jostling a stone-still Clay.

The older man doesn’t seem to notice, rolling on his side to face the American. Clay doesn’t move, feeling George’s eyes tracing up the length of his “sleeping” form.

It goes on this way for a long while with George staring and Clay pretending to be asleep, until the younger man, in his acting, actually begins to feel the ache of his body and the pulls of unconsciousness.

Which is why he can’t be sure if he hears George correctly.

“I miss you.”

But when his brain is finally alert enough to process, George’s breathing has evened out.

* * *

The clock reads 05:04.

But George is back. George is home. 

And Clay knew he would be, but now he’s sure. 

So he takes a moment. A long, fragile moment to just look.

To admire the tiny amount of light that traces the perfect bridge of George’s nose; the way it rests on the curve of his cheeks that are so often painted with color; the cracked skin of his lips and the taste of pine needles Clay knows he will never be rid of.

He admires.

And he whispers words he isn’t brave enough to say in the daylight.

And if George hears, he doesn’t mention it.

And they don’t talk about it the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve written for a while for other fandoms, but regardless of the fandom, I always think my writing is terrible, so please go easy on me!
> 
> (Again, this style was a bit out of my comfort zone, so my apologies if it reads weird or whatever!)


End file.
